


mix-up

by masi



Series: Short Stories for BPS [9]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2014-02-25
Packaged: 2018-01-13 18:46:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1237084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masi/pseuds/masi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A good seatmate is hard to find.</p>
            </blockquote>





	mix-up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mamakashi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mamakashi/gifts), [chaco](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaco/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Путаница](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5806399) by [Waka_Baka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waka_Baka/pseuds/Waka_Baka)



> Written for BPS Challenge No. 59 OTP Battle.  
> Credits: Inspired by [this post](http://camillamacaulayy.tumblr.com/post/70877946189/accidentally-picked-the-wrong-seats-in-an), and many of the ideas in the fic are from mamakashi and chaco.

Shintarou heads towards Seat 55F while trying not to observe the First Class cabin too closely, those wide chairs, that extra leg room. The flight to London last weekend was horrible: his Economy Class seat was only a couple of feet away from the lavatories, and between the stink, the people hovering near him as they waited to use the toilet, and his loud seatmate, he had had a very trying time indeed.

He will try to sleep for the next two hours. Then he will be refreshed for his layover in Frankfurt, where he plans to tour the city and take photos for his sister and his friend Takao, and then an eleven-hour flight, and then he will finally be back in Tokyo. Upon returning, he is going to rest for a day and then go back to work at the hospital, where he is due for a promotion. Surely the Board of Directors won’t pass him by after he displays what he has learned from the conference he just attended.

With these happy thoughts, Shintarou turns towards his seat. To find that someone is already sitting in it.

It is a very attractive someone, and the face is vaguely familiar, but regardless. That is Shintarou’s aisle seat. He specified that he wanted the aisle seat when he placed his booking. Any other seat in Economy Class is torture. 

“You are in my seat,” Shintarou says to the young man, who is sitting in a relaxed fashion, like he owns the chair.

The man blinks up at him. His eyes are strange. Heterochromatic, the color of one eye almost as red as the messy hair framing the round face, the other several shades lighter, rather eerie. 

After a moment, the man says in Japanese, with a polite smile, “Hello. So. You are my seatmate for this flight. It is nice to meet you.”

He has a smooth, soft voice, enunciates properly. He has made no move to get up.

“It’s a bit arbitrary, isn’t it, the way the lettering is presented.” The man laughs lightly. “Which one is G? Which one is F?”

“It’s not arbitrary at all,” Shintarou snaps, more than a little annoyed. “Simple logic tells you that-”

“Excuse me, Sir.” A flight attendant taps him on the shoulder. “You are holding up the line.”

Shintarou is about to complain when the man finally moves over to the window seat.

***

Shintarou has just stowed away his carry-on and sat down when the man says, “My name is Akashi Seijuurou.”

So that’s why he looks familiar, Shintarou realizes. Akashi. Of course. Heir to a prominent Japanese conglomerate. He must have appeared on TV and in the newspapers many, many times. It is strange that he is in Economy Class. Maybe his father is punishing him by cutting off his funds.

Shintarou hopes that this Akashi Seijuurou is annoyed by the incident that just occurred. Maybe Akashi is getting ready to say that he is going to move elsewhere. 

Akashi asks, “And you are?” His tone is inquisitive and friendly.

Shintarou gives up on his hopes for a peaceful flight. “Midorima Shintarou,” he says, buckling his seatbelt. 

“Which part of Japan are you from?” Akashi asks.

“Tokyo. You should put your seatbelt on before the attendant returns and tells you to.”

“Ah.” Akashi smiles. “You’re a stickler for the rules, aren’t you. What is it that you do in Tokyo, Midorima Shintarou?”

“You don’t have to use both names.” Shintarou can feel a tension headache starting at his temples. “And I am a doctor.”

He waits for the inevitable over-sharing and desire for a long, free consultation, the “you know, Midorima-sensei, there’s a large mole near my knee and it’s been looking a little bigger lately, I don’t know, can you take a look,” or “I get really bloated after eating beans, what diet do you recommend” or “my hands get really cold sometimes, that’s not normal, is it.” But, surprisingly, Akashi only asks what kind of doctor he is and then returns to checking his phone.

The lights dim, and then the airplane starts speeding over the tarmac. As it is gearing up for the ascent, Akashi leans closer to Shintarou and murmurs, “You seem a bit tense.” He holds out his hand, palm up. “One of my aunts always gets anxious during long flights. She feels better when she holds someone’s hand.”

Akashi’s hand is rather small, and the fingers are rounder than Shintarou’s. The nails are trimmed neatly. Shintarou would rather cry in front of everyone than hold that hand for support. Okay, maybe not, he thinks, looking at the finely turned wrist, but that offer was embarrassing and has to be declined immediately. 

“No, thank you,” he says, pulling a magazine out of the seat pocket.

Akashi shrugs elegantly, says, “Suit yourself.”

***

Aside from a short, mostly one-sided conversation about the quality of the peanuts offered on the airplane, Akashi remains quiet during the flight. After they have landed in Frankfurt, Shintarou bids him a pleasant goodbye. He watches Akashi walk over to a man wearing a suit and sunglasses near the check-in counter and thinks that he wouldn’t mind meeting up again, perhaps when they are not tired from travelling. 

***

Shintarou is consulting the travel brochures he found on the desk in his hotel room (and regretting that he didn’t book a nonstop flight from London to Tokyo), when he hears a knock on the door. He opens it to find himself face-to-face with Akashi Seijuurou. 

“Hello again,” Akashi says. “Would you like to come explore Frankfurt with me?”

After the initial surprise wears off, Shintarou remembers what his mother said about talking to strangers. She would not approve of this venture. But then again, Akashi is not quite a stranger. People in Japan know of him. She probably knows more about him than Shintarou does. Father has probably spoken to Akashi Senior at least once during a fundraiser or charity event of some sort.

Akashi says, “Let me be your tour guide. I have visited here once before.”

“Alright,” Shintarou agrees.

***

Frankfurt is an odd mixture of antiquity and modernity, the looming castles a backdrop to the bustling shopping malls and sleek Mercedes Benzes and loud tourists, who are traveling in small groups with their guidebooks and backpacks and accents. All blanketed by a grey chill that has Shintarou pulling his coat closer, putting his camera away, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. 

Akashi’s nose has turned red, and when Shintarou bends to listen to his descriptions of the locale, his warm breath wafts over Shintarou’s face. Akashi knows a great deal about the city and is able to impart his knowledge in a calm, composed manner that Shintarou really likes. What would it be like, Shintarou wonders, to get lost here with Akashi, just the two of them in this foreign place, without a care in the world. What would it feel like to kiss him right there, and there, that tilt of his smile, the space between his eyebrows. Grab ahold of the ends of his scarf and pull him in, hold him close.

When Akashi twines their fingers together, Shintarou does not pull away.

***

“My room is across the hall,” Akashi says. He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a small tin of mints. “Would you like one?”

“No thanks,” Shintarou replies. “I’ll see you in the morning then, before my flight.” He turns towards his door.

He swipes his keycard through the reader and steps into the room. Then he feels something warm and soft brush against his nape.

He jerks around to find Akashi very close to him. Akashi is standing there without the faintest hint of a blush, after kissing him so casually. 

“That was an offer, Midorima-kun.” 

And now Akashi is offering sex, apparently. Shintarou is not sure whether he is disappointed or very turned on. He clears his throat to say, “I don’t do one night stands.”

Shintarou waits for Akashi to get offended, but Akashi only smiles and replies, “Ah, a romantic one, aren’t you?” Then he closes the door and tugs Shintarou down by the collar. 

He murmurs against Shintarou’s mouth, “Isn’t there something romantic about sleeping with a stranger? Strangers in a strange land. You may never see me again, so, just for one night, you can be whoever you want to be.”

Against his better judgment, Shintarou puts a hand on the back of Akashi’s head and draws him closer, kisses him. The last time he kissed anyone was months ago. Another doctor at a work party. Furtively and quickly, both of them wiping their mouths afterwards, avoiding each other’s gaze for the duration of the evening. 

This kiss is much more satisfying, Shintarou thinks. He wishes he had taken one of Akashi’s mints. The taste of Schupfnudel is still at the back of his teeth. His knees feel a little weak. Maybe he ought to stop before Akashi realizes what a bad kisser he is, Shintarou thinks. And then Akashi coaxes his mouth open with a gentle tongue and Shintarou can’t think much at all.

He is quite ready to follow Akashi anywhere and everywhere when Akashi pulls away, tucks Shintarou’s bangs back, and says, “Well, good night then.”

Shintarou watches Akashi open the door and leave, trying not to feel disappointed. When the fog clears from his mind, he will be grateful that Akashi is so considerate. He must not go knock on Akashi’s door. He has explored enough foreign territory for one day.

***

Akashi is gone by the time Shintarou steps out into the hall. The cleaning service is in the empty room, talking animatedly while fixing the bed. Shintarou heads towards the elevators. One more flight, and he will be home. 

***

He has just settled into his seat, 47F, when Akashi arrives with a black carry-on much like his own. Akashi is smiling, his shoulders relaxed, like he didn’t just kiss Shintarou last night and then leave the hotel this morning without the simplest of goodbyes.

“Hello again,” Akashi says. “What a coincidence. It seems we are seatmates.”

“That is a coincidence.” Shintarou frowns.

He watches Akashi slide the carry-on into the compartment above, where his own luggage is. Then he gets up to let Akashi through. After they are both seated again, Akashi leans over and murmurs, “I’ll let you in on a secret. The seating arrangement this time isn’t a coincidence at all. The captain facilitated the switch.”

Shintarou can’t stay annoyed after this confession, and he is quite ready to be friends again when Akashi pulls out a small, magnetic shogi board from his bag and sets it up on his food tray. They start playing. 

Akashi is an intriguing, talented opponent, swift and wonderful in his movements. He is lovely to look at when he is pensive. He is amazing to the touch. Shintarou spends about as much time trying to win as he does planning another “accidental” brush of their fingers.

This turns out to be a mistake because he loses, badly. The defeat leaves him embarrassed and irritated, and he starts to ask Akashi questions of a more personal nature. After the “why were you travelling in Economy class on the first flight,” Akashi turns cold and rather alarming. Shintarou apologizes.

“That’s alright,” Akashi replies almost immediately, and then he gets up, claiming that he needs to stretch his legs.

Which is fine, except that he does this thrice more within the next hour, citing different reasons each time: he needs to say hello to a business acquaintance, he wishes to visit his friend Captain Kise, he needs another cup of tea. Each time he moves towards the aisle or back to his seat, he pushes his very toned ass right into Shintarou’s face. 

Lunch is a welcome relief. They are boxed into their seats by their food trays. Shintarou starts buttering a roll.

He is shaking a packet of pepper out onto his rice when he notices that Akashi is watching him. “What,” Shintarou says. 

“You really like your condiments, hm?” Akashi laughs. “That’s cute.”

Takao often calls him “cute” too, Shintarou reminds himself. No need to blush. He says, “You seem to not like eating at all.”

“I’ll have some of what you’re having,” Akashi replies.

“Your meal is the same as mine. Vegetarian.”

“But you’ve added flavor to yours. Let me try.”

Shintarou is edging his tray towards Akashi when he realizes that this opportunity might not come again. Carpe diem. He picks up his spoon, scoops a bit of rice onto it, and holds it up. 

He watches Akashi’s mouth close around the plastic spoon, the smile in Akashi’s eyes, and wonders how long it will take to forget this trip and move on with his life.

A very long time, he realizes a few hours later, when Akashi dozes off right onto Shintarou’s shoulder. Shintarou pulls a blanket out of its plastic wrap and then throws it over Akashi, tucks in the corners. The movie they were watching, the same on both screens so they can analyze it later, is reaching its climax, but Shintarou takes his headphones off, leans his head against Akashi’s, and closes his eyes.

***

Just before the airplane descends on the runway, Akashi takes Shintarou’s hand and then kisses him, a bit too fast, mouth hard. Shintarou can feel the outline of Akashi’s teeth against his lips. The airport comes into view in the little window, just beyond Akashi’s shoulders. 

***

“Well,” Akashi says. “Goodbye, then.”

A limo is waiting for him outside Narita Airport, the chauffeur already holding the door open. 

“Right,” Shintarou says. “It was nice meeting you.” He holds out a hand. 

Akashi looks at the hand for a long moment before taking it in his own. No don’t, Shintarou thinks. He wanted a simple handshake, not this, not Akashi holding his hand so tenderly. He doesn’t want this goodbye to be any more painful than it already is.

He squeezes Akashi’s fingers once before letting go.

Akashi turns towards the exit, takes a step forward, and then turns back. “Ah, I almost forgot,” he says. “Let me have your number, Midorima. Here, you can put it in my phone.”

Shintarou fumbles around his coat pocket and then thrusts his own phone at Akashi. “Yeah, can you do that too,” he mutters. His heart is pounding fast. He grabs Akashi’s phone. 

After they have finished the exchange, Akashi walks off. He does not turn around until he reaches the limo and then only lifts a hand before stepping inside. 

Shintarou is okay with this goodbye. It’s not quite a goodbye after all. There is always the possibility that Akashi will call him one day. He will hope and wait for that call. 

***

There is a traffic jam on the way home. Shintarou looks at the sakura trees lining the streets. They are beginning to bloom. 

He remembers that he hasn’t looked through his photos of Frankfurt. There should be a picture of Akashi in there too. He unzips the carry-on and then stops cold.

This is not his bag. 

Those are not his ties, and those are not his shirts folded so sloppily (though he wishes they were, they look very sophisticated), and that is not his red underwear, and that shogi board is not his.

He is staring at that very familiar board when his phone beeps. He glances at the display to find a photo of Kerosuke, lying inside Shintarou’s bag. The photo was sent by Akashi Seijuurou.

Shintarou feels his face heat up. He hasn’t carried around a lucky item since he graduated from high school, but he had packed Kerosuke in the carry-on just in case he got anxious and needed something to hold on his flight to London. 

Life was easier back when he was a teenager and didn’t care what other people thought about him. He has to watch himself nowadays, or people won’t take him seriously and that would be bad for his livelihood. Some of his colleagues already make snide comments about his green “like fungus” hair.

Things were going so well, and now this. He doesn’t feel like explaining the stuffed frog to Akashi, who no doubt is laughing about how weird Midorima Shintarou is. Shintarou waits for Akashi to send him a condescending text.

The next text is: _We seem to have had another mix-up._

Followed by: _I can bring your bag to your apartment. Text me your address._

Shintarou feels like an enormous load has been lifted off of his shoulders. He lets out a sigh of relief. As he begins typing his reply, he starts to smile.


End file.
